


doctor, crewman, friend

by tinybowties



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Drinking & Talking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29837484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybowties/pseuds/tinybowties
Summary: Out the door, down the hall, one, two, three doors and he stops and presses the chime. He’s not counting—he doesn’t mean to count—but it takes seventeen seconds for the door to slide open, and Bones blinks out at him.“Jim,” he says, and his voice is gravelly and he’s wearing just his black undershirt and a pair of soft pajama pants, bare feet, and suddenly Jim feels like he’s intruding even as Bones frowns and asks, “Did you need something? I didn’t hear the intercom.”---Or, the one in which Jim has a crush and Bones soothes his insecurities.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	doctor, crewman, friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bongbingbong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/gifts).



> Just a little soft TOS McKirk fluff I wrote one afternoon for Randy.

Normally, it goes like this: Jim wants to speak to Bones, so he sends for him over the intercom or makes a quick detour down to sickbay when he has a moment free.

Or normally, it goes like this: Leonard wants to speak to Jim, so while sickbay is quiet he leaves Christine in charge and makes his way up to the bridge.

Less frequent, but becoming more so the longer they know each other, it goes like this: Together, they make plans to share a meal—sometimes dinner, sometimes lunch, but rarely breakfast—and while they eat, they talk. Those conversations are different from the sort they share on the bridge or in sick bay, less business and more getting to know each other. Still, when they eat together they’re doctor and captain, crewmates entertaining the notion of friendship.

Today, it goes like this: Jim has been sitting in his quarters for two hours—sitting, standing, pacing, but mostly sitting. He’s tried reading but can’t concentrate. He’s tried writing—he owes correspondence to a number of fellow captains and old academy friends—but the data cards he means to fill remain frustratingly blank. He’s turned the lights off, but couldn’t rest; turned them up to full, but found them too bright. Now they’re at seventy percent, but he’s not sure that’s better or worse. He orders the computer to dim them further, to forty percent, just for something to do.

And finally, he gives up on finding any entertainment in his own company. Out the door, down the hall, one, two, three doors and he stops and presses the chime. He’s not counting—he doesn’t mean to count—but it takes seventeen seconds for the door to slide open, and Bones blinks out at him.

“Jim,” he says, and his voice is gravelly and he’s wearing just his black undershirt and a pair of soft pajama pants, bare feet, and suddenly Jim feels like he’s intruding even as Bones frowns and asks, “Did you need something? I didn’t hear the intercom.”

“No,” Jim says, “no, I didn’t try comming. I… you’re busy. I’m sorry, I’ll leave. Lunch tomorrow?”

Bones nods—they’ve already made those plans, so of course he does—but his mouth twists, a pensive, uncertain expression, and when Jim turns to leave he reaches out and catches his arm, stops him.

“I was just pouring myself a drink,” he says. His hand is warm on Jim’s elbow. “Why don’t you come on in and join me?”

Jim hesitates—he really shouldn’t have come, it was unfair of him to expect that Bones would be free, that he would want to spend any of his precious off-duty hours with his captain, unplanned and unannounced—but now Doctor McCoy’s eyes are bright and blue and earnest and his face is crinkling up in a welcoming smile, and Jim is only human.

“Well… I suppose I can stay for one drink,” he agrees, and Bones’ hand falls away from his arm but only so the doctor can step back from the doorway and welcome him into the room.

“Have a seat,” he says, and, “You a brandy man, Jim?”

Truth be told, Jim doesn’t drink alcohol often. He’s never really developed a taste for anything but the occasional glass of wine. Still, he smiles and says, “Whatever you’re having.”

He’s been in McCoy’s quarters before, once or twice, but only ever in an official capacity. Now he looks around curiously, taking in the standard issue bedding and the neatly organized books stacked on the bulkhead; the communications console and the latticed room divider similar to his own room aboard the _Enterprise_ ; the bottles set in an orderly row atop the liquor cabinet, the potted plant in the corner, the carved wooden knick-knacks filling the remaining empty spaces on the wall shelves.

“You’ve made it very homey,” Jim comments, setting himself gingerly on the edge of McCoy’s berth, for lack of any other seating.

“Well, I’m an old country doctor,” Bones says, favouring Jim with a lopsided smile and handing him a tumbler with a generous share of amber liquid in it. The expression does something to Jim’s insides—makes his stomach do a little flip-flop and his heart flutter—and he almost misses the rest of the sentence, too lost in studying the crooked tilt of McCoy’s mouth and the dimple formed in his cheek.

“I like to keep things simple. Earthy,” McCoy says. Jim nods, looking around the room again.

“I think you’ve succeeded, doctor.”

McCoy leaves plenty of space between them when he sits on the berth as well, one leg tucked up under him and his own tumbler cradled delicately between his fingers. Jim doesn’t think he’s ever felt his presence more acutely.

“I’ve invited you into my private room and given you a glass of my favourite whiskey,” Bones teases, “I think you could call me Leonard, if you wanted.”

It shouldn’t make Jim flush the way it does. He does his best to hide that reaction by taking a sip of whiskey. McCoy mirrors him, and takes evident pleasure from the taste, or the slight burn of it, his eyes flicking closed and a contented sigh escaping him. Jim doesn’t share his appreciation for the drink, but it’s at least not unpleasant. He could grow used to it, if McCoy made a habit of sharing.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” McCoy asks after a few moments of shared silence. “Something on your mind, Jim?”

“No, no. Just… restless. I thought I might settle with some company. You don’t mind?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting company,” McCoy says wryly, with a pointed look down at his pajamas. “But no, I don’t mind. Just surprised, is all. You’ve never come by before.”

Jim takes another sip of his whiskey before answering, not quite able to meet Bones’ eyes. “I don’t make a habit of it,” he admits. “A captain, dropping in on a member of his crew without warning?”

“Jim,” McCoy interrupts firmly. “You’re thinking about it all wrong. A friend, asking for the company of someone he cares about. You may be a captain but, Starfleet regulations be damned, a man has a right to that much!”

“Yes,” Jim agrees, automatically. He’s taken aback, though—not at the ferocity of McCoy’s tone or the passion of his argument; that much he knows well enough to expect from the doctor by now—but at the confident assertion that this is what their relationship is, now. Not a captain and a crewman, or a captain and a doctor, but a man and his friend. Someone he cares about.

“Yes, you’re right, of course,” he agrees again, more strongly. And then he flicks a glance at McCoy over the rim of his glass, feeling equal parts trepidatious and daring, and ventures, “Which would make you a friend, inviting someone he cares about in for a drink?”

“Too right,” McCoy growls, without hesitation, and Jim can’t stop the smile that blooms across his face. There was never any hope of Bones failing to notice, and his own expression lightens in response. “And as your friend who cares about you, I expect you’ll be dropping by more often. Lord knows, I’d appreciate the company myself. It’s awful lonely, out here in space.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Jim promises. His heart flips again when Bones smiles and asks if he’d care for a game of gin rummy.

A day ago, even just an hour, and Jim might have been worried about that—about what it would mean, for a man to fall in love with his doctor, or a captain with his crewman. Maybe it had even been in the back of his mind already, a quiet anxiety fuelling his earlier restlessness. But not anymore. After all, Bones had said it himself: Jim had been thinking about it all wrong.

He’s just a man falling in love with his friend… and he has a right to that much.


End file.
